This Feeling
by Belfast Docks
Summary: The moment had been branded into her memory. Cor/Aravis


**Author's Note: **The wonderful thing about Cor and Avaris is the fact that they lend themselves to _so many_ different ideas and fanfics. This is just one of several ideas that have bounced about my head and the first that allowed itself to be written.

~BD

* * *

**This Feeling**

* * *

Once, when she had been a little girl, she had heard husky whispers and the faint tinkling of the tiny bells that older girls wore about their ankles and wrists, coming from one of her father's secluded, hidden gardens. Naturally, she had been curious, and had discreetly peeked around the jasmine-covered arbor into the tiny, tropical haven – only to discover her older brother standing very, _very_ close to a visiting Tarkeena.

So startled was she by what she saw that she froze, absorbing the scene before her down to the minute details. Mid-afternoon sunlight, hot and bright, filtered through the heavy canopy of lemon and olive trees, creating a dappled, haloed effect upon the two lovers. The young lady was holding a blood-red hibiscus bloom and whispering her thanks to her admirer, her lashes long and dark and beautiful against her tanned skin, the pink and gold silk of her thin clothing rippling in the slight breeze.

And then, Aravis's brother just happened to glance up at that _exact_ moment, and discovered that his little sister was watching him.

However, to her further surprise, he did not look angry. Instead, he had merely smirked in his arrogant, endearing way and given her a sly wink, just as the Tarkeena buried her nose in the fragrant flower. As if he wished to say: _one day, you too shall know this feeling, little one_.

Then he had tilted the young woman's chin back with two firm fingers and captured her all-too-willing lips in a commanding kiss. Immediately, the Tarkeena had whimpered and sank against him, seeming to relish the way his strong arms had encircled her and pulled her tight against him.

Aravis had hurried back to the house then, thankful that she did _not_ have any jangling silver bells upon her person that would give her away.

But the moment had been branded into her memory: A handsome young man who could sweep a young Tarkeena off of her feet and kiss her in such a way as to make her feel safe, protected, and cherished. Someone to whisper sweet nothings in her ear, even though she was as independent and fiery as the Calormen sun.

Someone _special_.

For she, too, had a desire for romance.

* * *

_This_, however... This was _not_ romantic.

This was _terrifying_.

Her fingers were shaking so badly that she could hardly rip his tunic away from his skin. Blood had soaked part of it, but that was the least of her worries.

This was all _her_ fault. She had been chasing him in a fit of temper, to retrieve an insignificant hair ribbon that he'd stolen from her in a 'bout of his usual, incessant teasing, and they'd ended up running into the forest near Anvard. And, without any warning whatsoever, he had lost his footing when he'd darted off the worn, familiar path and into a clump of trees, and he had slipped down a hidden ravine.

Thank the _Lion_ that the said ravine was _not_ scattered with jagged rocks, as many of the gullies in Archenland seemed to be. But a sharp branch had caught his arm, causing the most visible damage. And worse, she knew he'd thwacked his head at least once, because she'd _heard_ the sickening sound of his body hitting a large boulder (and his subsequent yelp of pain).

Even the cushion of dead leaves he'd fallen upon didn't seem to have broken his crash quite enough. By the time she had managed to clamor down after him, he was unconscious. She hadn't even cared that she'd torn her beautiful cobalt dress on several branches and protruding rocks, so sick was she with fear, and it took a minute or so to bring him back around, during which time she would later give herself some credit for not panicking outright.

Now, he was watching her, his teeth gritted tightly to avoid crying out, as she tore long strips from the hem of her gown and began binding his arm to stop the flow of blood.

He started to speak once, but then winced and reached his other hand up to his head, touching a tender spot on the back with an audible hiss of pain.

"_Please_ lie still," she begged angrily, as the soft fabric slipped in her fingers while she tried desperately to knot it. She was nauseatingly aware of his blood on her trembling hands, and how broad his chest was, and how strong biceps appeared, despite the situation they were in. She'd been noticing his body for the last two years – he was no longer the skinny little boy who had run away with her from Calormen, after all – but this was _not_ the time to gawk and she felt terribly ashamed of herself. He had nearly been killed because of her, and she had chosen this moment to act like a _girl_ for once in her life.

Then, to top it all off, he _reached up and cupped her cheek_.

She froze, her panicked gaze meeting his thoughtful, pained one. She could feel the strength in that gentle hand – once, seven years prior, she would have scoffed that such a thin, bedraggled boy would have any strength at all.

After a long, tense moment, he whispered, "You're so beautiful, Aravis. It seems I never manage to tell you that, even though I think it all the time."

Her breath caught painfully in her chest, but she somehow managed to keep her voice clipped and sharp. "You must have hit your head a lot harder than I first thought. I have to go back and find your father –"

But before she could rise, his hand slid tenderly behind her neck and pulled her down. And against her weak protest, he lifted up to meet her, suddenly pressing his lips to hers.

It was tentative and shy and chaste, as though he were worried she would be furious with him for being so bold, and that he might even receive another lump to his head for it. She could taste the parchedness of his lips and a faint hint of the cider he'd been drinking before he'd stolen her hair ribbon. And something else. Something distinctly _Cor_, something masculine and heady in his breath.

Without thought, she moaned softly as he sank back to the bed of leaves beneath him, and she followed his lips for want of more, sprawling partially on top of him.

Both of his hands fisted into her hair then, his fingers clenching the ebony locks before stroking through them affectionately, shakily, as their mouths met again and again. Her hands, still dirty and a bit bloody, rested against the strong chest she'd been admiring lately, and she felt the deep, shuddering breath he took when he pulled away by a fraction and gasped her name so low and husky that it sent a shiver of delight to her toes, before his mouth fused to hers again.

And suddenly, their kissing was no longer shy or chaste – they found a much better angle, and their mouths opened to each other. She felt one of his hands fall daringly to her small waist, and she stroked her fingers firmly up his ribs, delighting when a groan of pleasure escaped his throat. His tongue touched hers and something burst within her, her hand had danced back up his torso to his broad shoulders and the curve to his neck, desperate to _feel_ him, touch him, to memorize every dip and curve of his strong body, while his hands traveled up hers, brushed her breasts, caressed her arms...

"Well, that's _one_ way to revive the clumsy lout."

As though burned, Aravis jerked away from Cor and turned to stare up in shock. At the top of the ravine stood Corin, leaning casually against a tree and smirking at both of them in a way that made her utterly panic. Just exactly how much had he seen? Clearly enough to know a truth she was hesitant even to admit to herself, yet! Oh, Aslan help him - she had half a mind to try and run him through!

Furiously, she snapped, "Don't just stand there! He fell and hit his head, and his arm is cut badly! Go! Fetch your father and some of the servants to help get him out of here!"

Corin laughed, but at least turned to do as she bid.

And when she finally managed to meet Cor's gentle, infinite gaze a few seconds later, she had to quickly suppress the sudden, burning heat within the pit of her stomach. Embarrassed, she diverted her eyes from his. After all, now was _not_ the time to be kissing the Crowned Prince of Archenland!

But to her surprise, he touched her jaw and gently turned her to face him once more. Then he smiled at her – saying nothing at all, and yet, his eyes betraying every emotion he felt within, as though he had shouted aloud for the world to hear.

She knew, because she was feeling the same emotions herself, and it scared her witless.

* * *

The second time was at least a bit more romantic than the first.

For starters, Cor wasn't bleeding, though his head _was_ still a bit tender from his encounter with the ravine.

It had been two days later, and she had gone for a walk just outside the castle walls to a small grove of hemlocks, trying to clear her thoughts and escape Corin's constant _smirking_.

And then she'd heard the crunch of a twig and turned, startled to find Cor entering the secluded clearing just behind her.

For a brief instant, she wondered what sort of picture she presented to him – her tanned skin contrasting against the vibrant red of her long gown, the sleeves of which were spilling off her shoulders. Her hair was down, cascading in waves, and she could only imagine that she looked as frightened and uncertain as she felt. Which she _hated_, because she was stronger than this! She, the daughter of a Calormen lord!

But perhaps that was her gravest mistake. She was no longer the daughter of a Calormen lord, having reliquished her birthrite in exchange for acceptance at Anvard. She was a Northerner, now.

Fitting, then, that it was a cloudy day and that there were no citrus trees with tangy scent above her, or bright hibiscus flowers about. But the hemlocks were towering and leafy and made things dark and mysterious, and the damp grass was a velveteen carpet beneath her slippers. Stray wildflowers dotted the hidden grove, and the trees grew so close together that one could not even see Anvard Castle. She suddenly remembered her brother, and a sharp pang filled her soul.

His unspoken words made sense, now.

They actually made _sense_, and the man who was making them make sense was _Cor_.

Her breathing hitched and she felt as though she were suffocating from the sheer abruptness of the realization that she was actually _in love_ with the boy she had escaped Calormen with years ago. Only, he wasn't a boy anymore - he was heir to the Archenland throne; an incredibly attractive young man who walked like the future king he would be.

And he was _coming towards her_, slow and deliberate. A thrill shot through her body as he drew nearer. So near, in fact, that he finally grasped her clenched fingers and their bodies brushed to each other with a shock that was like lightening.

He gazed down at her nervously, and suddenly she felt something soft and silken brush against her fingers. When she looked down, she discovered it was her hair ribbon from their disastrous escapade two days prior.

He hesitated, his other fingers cupping her cheek, and said softly, "I'm sorry. For stealing it, I mean."

"I'm not," she whispered, unable to look away from the light blue of his eyes. She'd never had a chance to _look_ at them before; for fear that he would discover how she really felt about him if he caught her blatantly staring. "I mean..." She took a deep breath, and plunged on, "I wish you hadn't been hurt, of course. But I'm not sorry for the... for the other outcome."

He looked surprised, and she swallowed as he slowly, torturously, stroked his palm over her jaw. She was terrified of breaking eye contact with him; this was far too important. What if she never had another chance to confess how she felt?

But finally, he smiled shyly and murmured, "By the Lion, Aravis. I wish to heaven you'd told me sooner."

And then his mouth found hers once more. But this time was not shy and hesitant; it was clinging and needy. Aravis whimpered and wrapped herself about him, her fingers finally working into his soft, flaxen hair at last, and she groaned as his mouth abruptly left hers to skim her throat, suckling and nipping until she cried his name desperately. Only then did he come back to her lips; their tongues touched for the second time, and she felt as though she were burning from the inside out as Cor devoured her, cupping her head in a gentle, restrained gesture. If he lost control, she wondered if she would spiral to the sky from sheer pleasure. Where in heaven had he learned to kiss like _this_? Or did it even matter?

And as though he, too, were unable to stand such intimate contact, he dropped his head and began to kiss her neck and bare shoulders. Then her collarbone, her throat again. She gasped and writhed in his arms, aching for more. It was as though he couldn't get enough of her at once, and she found the only thing she could do was to cling to his broad shoulders in an attempt to anchor her body. She wanted all of him – _needed_ him.

Their mouths met and melded once more, and between the heated, frantic kisses, he muttered, "We should have thought of making up like this ages ago, Aravis. I wouldn't mind fighting with you if I knew I could kiss you like this, afterwards."

She tugged his lower lip into her mouth for a brief moment, her body shivering in response to the ripple of his muscles beneath his tunic, and then she kissed the base of his throat.

"Mm, perhaps you're right," she murmured haughtily, sliding one of her hands just beneath his shirt to feel him, the other tight about his neck to keep him in place so she could continue kissing and licking the hollow.

Breathing heavily and a bit erraticly, he tilted her face to gaze down at her, and she was pleased to see that his skin was flushed. Elated that _she_ held this power over him.

He stammered, "You should marry me. Then we can make up as often as we choose."

And, immediately, it was as though the beautiful spell had cracked and shattered into a million pieces.

For a split second, Aravis was merely startled by his words; then they hit her full force. She scowled at him, and furiously bit out, "People don't marry to make up, Cor. They marry because they're in love!"

He cut her off quickly. "And I love you. So... really... perhaps we _should..._" He trailed off, flushing a dull pink.

It was like a second shock. Only this time, the spell seemed to merge back together, rather than apart. She gaped at him for a few seconds before she managed to whisper, "You... You _love_ me?"

Cor scuffed his boot against the grass, musing up a neat tuft, but kept his hands firmly about her waist, almost on her buttocks. "Yes, I love you! Great heavens, I have for ages, now. Aravis, please say you'll marry me." He lifted his blue eyes to hers. "I can't live without you. Especially not now." He paused before touching her lips with one sword-calloused finger. "You taste like spices. It's maddening, you know. I think I'm going crazy." He swallowed. "I want you so badly... and not in a very gentleman-like manner, either, I confess."

Heart hammering madly against her chest, she breathed, "I'm not surprised, though it's no more than I want you." And before he could respond, she kissed him hard, then whispered against his lips, "You taste like cider. Yes, I'll marry you. I'm hopelessly in love with you, though I can hardly believe it."

With a relieved groan and a half-laugh, he wrapped his arms securely about her, and she dropped her head to his strong chest and clutched him tightly.

And she knew, then, that her brother could not have _possibly_ known the _true_ meaning of what he had wanted to convey to her all those years ago. He had sought only pleasure from a young Tarkeena, maybe for only a brief time. But Aravis was seeking something for the rest of her life. Something tangible and painful and delightful all at once. Something beautiful.

Something called _love_.

And she wouldn't let go now that she had captured it.

**~FIN~**


End file.
